


The Morose Motel

by knockoutmouse



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Canon Disabled Character, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Sex, Explicit Consent, Hand Jobs, Headcanon: Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender is autistic, Healthy Relationships, Henchperson's name is Rory, Hints of dysphoria, Intersex Character, Kissing, Lingerie, Nonbinary Character, Other, Philosophizing about death, Self-Esteem Issues, Uniform Kink, really vague oral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-26 13:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14403201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockoutmouse/pseuds/knockoutmouse
Summary: Set between The Hostile Hospital and The Carnivorous Carnival. Rory has some feelings about almost dying in the hospital fire. Fernald tries to help. They're both shy and awkward and need reassurance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think the names that a few other authors have given to the unnamed members of the troupe are quite nice. I just decided to come up with my own, for no particular reason. 
> 
> Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender: Rory  
> White-Faced Women: Jenny and Elvira  
> Bald Man: Arturo
> 
> My impression from the books was that Olaf’s troupe and the Baudelaires had travelled directly from the hospital to the carnival, but in the show, everybody’s had a costume change between episodes, so I’m going with the idea that they stopped to spend the night somewhere.

It had been lucky, Fernald thought, that they’d come across this abandoned motel in the Hinterlands. Of course, he hadn’t been so lucky that he’d been able to avoid carrying Olaf and Esme’s luggage to their room. 

“Abandoned” may not have been the most accurate word to describe the motel. It was abandoned, true, but that was because a large portion of it had burned down some time ago.

Fernald didn’t ask Olaf whether he’d had anything to do with that fire, or how he knew that he’d find the motel here. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. 

Of the rooms that remained standing, many proved to be uninhabitable due to fire damage, extremely territorial raccoons, or both. 

Olaf and Esme had taken the best room, a phrase which here means “the room that had the least amount of dead leaves and broken glass on the floor,” which left three semi-tolerable rooms for the rest of the troupe. 

Jenny and Elvira, the twins, immediately took up residency in one of the remaining rooms, and Arturo went into the next, leaving Fernald watching from the open doorway—where the only-slightly-broken door hung at an angle—as he pushed the two narrow beds together, clearly intending to use them both. 

Fernald supposed that left him to room with Rory. He didn’t mind. If anything, he was a bit pleased…and nervous. Lately, Fernald had caught himself having some thoughts about Rory that he was pretty sure he shouldn’t have about a coworker. 

Plus, seeing Rory disguised in that nurse uniform again—it had been hard enough trying to feign indifference that time at Dr. Montgomery’s house for only a couple hours, and that was with all those dreadful reptiles to distract him. This time, at the hospital, he’d kept finding his mind wandering to inappropriate places. It was unprofessional and probably creepy, he’d chided himself, to daydream about making out with your coworker. Then again, they were both villains, so maybe that sort of thing was acceptable.

Besides, he didn’t even know whether Rory was interested in a romantic relationship with anyone. And even if they were, did they date men? And if they did, would they reciprocate any feelings from Fernald?

There were just too many uncertainties for him to have a chance, Fernald decided. Of course the feeling couldn’t be mutual. 

Besides, where was Rory, anyway? They’d been unusually quiet during the car ride as the troupe had fled the hospital, and Fernald had tried not to think too much about the circumstances leading up to the situation. 

Fernald picked up his battered duffel bag and made his way to the remaining habitable room on the other side of Arturo’s. 

When Fernald entered the room, he found Rory sitting on one of the two narrow beds, still dressed as Nurse Lucafont, thin blanket stretched tight over their shoulders as they drew it around themselves, knees pulled up to their chest, clutching a pillow. 

“Hey,” said Fernald, shutting the door quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” said Rory unconvincingly. “I’m totally fine.”

Fernald didn’t think it was polite to contradict this, but on the other hand, it seemed evident that Rory was not fine. 

“Are you sure?” he asked after a moment. If Rory insisted, Fernald decided, he would leave them alone. 

“…no.”

Fernald came over to their bed and sat down carefully at the foot of it. “Can I help?”

Rory shook their head no, then glanced cautiously over at Fernald. “Um...can I have your blankets? Just for a little while,” they added quickly. 

Fernald got up and fetched the blankets from the other bed. “Are you cold?” he asked. 

Rory shook their head again. “No. But it makes me feel better.” 

Fernald draped the blankets over their shoulders, and Rory pulled them closer and moved to press their back closer to the wall. 

“Thank you,” they said after a moment. 

There was a long pause. Fernald wasn’t sure what to do. It seemed like Rory wasn’t in the mood for a conversation, but he didn’t want to just ignore them. 

“I can go,” said Fernald, “if you’d rather be by yourself for a while?”

Rory shook their head again, then added, quietly, “Please stay.”

Fernald sat back down cautiously.

“Do you want to talk?” asked Fernald. “Or can I get you anything?” To tell the truth, he was worried. He’d never seen Rory like this before. 

They stared into space for a moment, then shook their head wordlessly. 

“Does it still hurt?” asked Fernald, gesturing to the red mark across Rory’s cheek. 

“Still kinda stings,” they admitted. 

“I’ll bring you some ice,” Fernald volunteered. Then he and Rory both looked around doubtfully, and Fernald sheepishly met their eyes as they both reached the same conclusion, namely, that there was likely no ice to be found in a burned-down motel. 

“That’s okay,” said Rory. “I appreciate the gesture.”

The two of them sat in silence for some time. Fernald thought back to a few hours previously, as he’d waited, hoping desperately for Rory to emerge into the crowd fleeing the burning hospital. There had been a foreign feeling that seemed to claw its way from his stomach all the way up his spinal column, sending a shivering dread spreading all throughout his body until a familiar tall figure appeared in the distance against a backdrop of smoke. At that moment, immense relief had flooded through him. 

He wondered what was going through Rory’s mind about all of it.

Rory spoke, startling Fernald. 

“I’ve always thought that contemplation of one’s own mortality is a necessary component of healthy psychological development,” they said. 

Fernald nodded, feeling a bit at sea, a phrase which here means “wondering why a person of Rory’s intelligence would choose to associate with a person like him.”

Rory continued, “Tom Stoppard wrote, perhaps facetiously, that death is a condition of not-being. That seems like a reasonable supposition if one doesn’t subscribe to any religious faith.” 

Rory sat up to focus on Fernald now, toying with the tattered edge of their blankets. “So then why is this such a distressing experience?”

“It’s different,” Fernald said, “thinking about death philosophically, compared to actually being in peril.” He didn’t add that encountering perilous situations was the life they had both chosen, or perhaps been thrown into. 

“There was a moment back there,” said Rory, “when I was sure that was the end. When I came outside, I had the strangest feeling that something had gone wrong—that I was supposed to die in that hospital tonight.”

Fernald frowned. “Do you want to die?”

“No. I mean, like, eventually, I guess. Not right now.”

“I’m glad,” said Fernald, then felt it was stupid. “I don’t want you to die either. Actually—” he hesitated, unsure, then forged ahead, “Tonight, when I was—I mean, when we were all waiting for you—I was really worried.”

“Really?”

And Fernald felt a sudden pain that he didn’t fully understand at the realization that Rory was genuinely surprised to learn that Fernald felt concern for them. 

“Of course I was.” Fernald scooted closer to the head of the bed. “Is it okay if I hug you?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” said Rory, with a somewhat confused look. 

Fernald tried to explain, “Sometimes people don’t like to be touched.”

“I appreciate you asking first,” said Rory with sincerity. 

“I mean,” Fernald tried again, “being touched by me.” He couldn’t bring himself to look them in the eye. 

“Hey,” said Rory, sitting up quickly. “I don’t mind. Please don’t think that. Besides,” they said, “If someone else is bothered by your appearance, that’s their problem, not yours.”

Fernald moved closer and took Rory in his arms. After a second of hesitation, Rory held onto Fernald, relaxing into him and resting their face against his shoulder.

The two of them stayed like that for some time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fernald ended up with more angst than I intended this chapter. Also, more Tom Stoppard references.

Fernald had been enjoying it too much, this feeling of Rory curled up against his chest, warm and heavy. So of course, he thought, it was only natural that he’d go and do the wrong thing and screw everything up. He’d forgotten himself and reached up to stroke Rory’s face. He’d meant it as a gesture of tenderness, but Rory had winced and pulled away from his touch. 

Fernald couldn’t blame them. Of course that’s how anyone would react. How could he have been so stupid and thoughtless?

“I’m sorry,” he said frantically, the words flooding from him as Rory sat up, moving away. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” 

“No, it’s okay,” said Rory, gingerly putting a hand to their cheek. “It just still hurts.”

Fernald stared at Rory. Of course—he’d completely forgotten that Rory had been hit in the face with the Baudelaires’ makeshift bungee cord.

“Did I hurt you? I—” He glanced down at his hook in embarrassment. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“I mean, it didn’t help,” they admitted truthfully, “but it didn’t hurt that much. Wait,” said Rory slowly. “You thought—?” 

They reached out and gently rested one hand on Fernald’s right prosthetic. 

“You mean that’s not—?” Fernald was so relieved he couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Rory again and held them tight. Then, another instant of self-doubt as Fernald wondered whether he should have asked first. After all, Rory had only said they weren’t repulsed by his hooks, not that they wanted any further physical contact.

Fernald released them and sat back. 

“Sorry,” he said gruffly, and cleared his throat. “Getting late, isn’t it?” he added, hoping to dispel the awkward moment. 

“It’s difficult to tell without a functioning clock,” said Rory in a tone that Fernald found more unreadable than usual, almost as if they were trying to keep their voice even, “but I would imagine you’re right. Perhaps we could determine the approximate time by the position of the sun, if it’s still up, or, if it isn’t, by the darkness of the sky.”

“Good idea,” said Fernald, standing and crossing to the door. He opened it and stepped outside. The night air was cold, the sky was dark, and the sun had vanished behind the slightly darker smudge in the distance that Fernald knew was the Mortmain Mountains. 

He stepped to the side and leaned back against the wall next to the doorway. What was he doing? He could tell by Rory’s reactions that they knew something was up. He was being weird and nervous and overthinking everything. Maybe a moment alone would give him a chance to reset his brain. And also forget about Rory wearing the nurse outfit. Maybe if Fernald stayed outside long enough, they would have changed by the time he went back in. 

If Fernald had smoked cigarettes, he would have had one then to calm his nerves. But he didn’t smoke, of course, because that would have set a bad example for any children who happened to be watching.

Out here in the Hinterlands, he could see the stars in the night sky, like points of light shining through pinpricks in a swirl of inky satin. 

Actually, the view was quite pleasant, Fernald realized, if you disregarded the immediate surroundings.

“Actually, the view is quite pleasant,” said Rory from the doorway, startling Fernald again, “if you disregard our immediate surroundings.”

“I was just thinking that,” Fernald agreed. 

Another moment of silence descended upon them. 

“Did I do something to upset you?” asked Rory. 

“What? No!” said Fernald quickly. 

“Are you sure?” they asked. “You seem…I don’t know, really anxious or tense or something.”

“I just—have some things on my mind,” said Fernald, which wasn’t untruthful. 

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

Fernald exhaled sharply, and leaned back to look up at the stars. What was he supposed to say to that? It wasn’t as if he could just confess _I like you and I can’t stop thinking about kissing you even though I’m pretty sure you don’t want me to and apparently I have a thing for nurses’ uniforms, which is an unexpected but not entirely unwelcome revelation_.

Fernald shook his head and managed a smile. “I’m good.”

Rory’s look of concern only increased. “Is it because you wanted your own room? I can go sleep with Arturo,” they suggested. 

“ _What?_ ” 

“I meant, like, on the floor,” said Rory, unperturbed, as Fernald tried to reduce the sudden spike in his blood pressure. “Or maybe he’ll let me have one of the beds.”

“I don’t want you to go,” said Fernald. “I just—needed some fresh air, that’s all. I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“Oh,” said Rory in a small voice. “Okay. I guess I’ll go to bed.”

“Why don’t you come with me?” Fernald offered quickly. His suggestion was, of course, the opposite of his intent in going for a walk, namely, to buy himself some more time away from Rory in order to compose himself. But seeing Rory’s hurt expression, knowing that his behavior was making them think they’d done something to offend him—Fernald couldn’t abide that. 

The two of them walked slowly through the flat and desolate landscape. 

“The stars are really pretty,” remarked Rory. 

“Yes,” agreed Fernald. _Like you_ , his mind added, and he immediately shook his head to rid himself of the thought. 

They walked in silence for a moment. 

“You know,” said Rory, “earlier, I thought for a minute, you were going to, um…”

“Going to what?” asked Fernald quickly. 

“Nothing,” said Rory, and gave an unconvincing laugh. “I totally didn’t think anything.” 

Fernald didn’t say anything, because at that moment he stumbled into a chest-high bush that had suddenly appeared in his path, a phrase which here means “had been there the whole time, but Fernald hadn’t seen it because he’d been looking at Rory instead.”

“Careful!” said Rory, catching hold of his arm, even though he hadn’t really been in any danger of falling. 

“I’m all right,” said Fernald. He gave the bush an annoyed kick, as if in revenge, and noticed that it was some sort of flowering shrub with large yellow blossoms. He reached out and carefully took hold of one by the stem, broke it off from the branch, and handed it to Rory, who still hadn’t let go of his arm. That realization made him feel rather warm, even though the night was quite chilly. 

“Here,” said Fernald. “I know you like flowers and stuff,” he said hurriedly, as if to justify his action. 

“Thank you,” said Rory, twirling the flower in their fingers before they raised it to their face to smell the blossom, then grimaced.

“What’s the matter?” asked Fernald. 

“Nothing. This flower totally doesn’t have an unpleasant scent at all.” 

“…I don’t believe you,” said Fernald.

“Okay, it does,” admitted Rory. “But I still like it. Because it’s from you,” they added pointedly. 

It took a moment for this statement to sink in. _Wait_ , thought Fernald. Was Rory flirting with him? As in, they were possibly actually interested in him, too?

Rory tucked the flower behind their ear, produced a hairpin from somewhere in their blue dress, and pinned the flower into place, all impressively one-handed, their other still curled around Fernald’s upper arm. 

“It suits you,” said Fernald. “Looks nice.”

“You really think so?”

“Beautiful,” said Fernald softly, halfway hoping to himself that Rory wouldn’t hear.

Rory’s step slowed, and they turned to give Fernald a long, serious look. 

“You’re not being sarcastic,” they stated, as if this came as a surprise. 

“Of course not!” 

“Sorry. Sometimes it’s hard for me to tell,” said Rory. “And, you know, any time someone’s told me that, they were making fun of me.”

Fernald stopped and turned to face Rory directly. 

“I would never do that,” he said. 

“I know,” said Rory, and the absolute sincerity of this statement was reflected in their earnest, deep brown eyes as they gazed at Fernald.

Fernald took a step forward, closing the distance between himself and Rory, and kissed them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in which the author first realizes that they'd forgotten about the existence of electricity)

When the kiss ended, Fernald had another moment of doubt. 

“Is it okay that I just did that?” he asked. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” asked Rory, with a dreamy, faraway look. 

“Well, we’re coworkers,” said Fernald. “It might have been inappropriate.”

“It’s true that such conduct might constitute sexual harassment if one of the parties considers it unwelcome,” said Rory, “but I think it may be mitigated by the unconventional circumstances of our employment. Considering that, you know, Count Olaf doesn’t actually pay us.”

“Okay, that’s a good point,” admitted Fernald. 

“Besides,” Rory added, “We’re villains, and inappropriate conduct toward one’s associates is totally villainous.”

“Oh! I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“And also besides that,” Rory went on, beginning to blush, despite the lack of change in their inflection, “I _was_ kind of hoping you were going to kiss me.”

“Really?” 

Rory nodded. “I thought you were going to earlier, but then I thought I had just misread your intentions.”

“You definitely didn’t,” confessed Fernald. “I was going to, but I panicked—I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“I did,” said Rory simply.

“I’m glad,” said Fernald. “I’d like to kiss you again, if you don’t mind.”

“I would also find that enjoyable.”

This time, Rory leaned down to kiss Fernald. By the time they broke apart, both were breathing heavily. Fernald wiped away a trace of lipstick from the corner of his mouth with his shirtsleeve. 

“Although I would like to keep doing this,” said Rory, “and the moonlight is actually quite romantic, the temperature seems to have dropped considerably.”

“Let’s go back inside,” agreed Fernald, and they started back toward the motel. 

“Would you like my coat?” he asked. 

“Do you feel pressured to take on a masculine role because I happen to be wearing a dress at the moment?” asked Rory conversationally. 

“Er…no?” said Fernald uncertainly. “At least, I don’t think I do. I just thought you might be cold.”

“Oh. In that case, sure,” said Rory. “I just wanted to make sure we weren’t unwittingly perpetuating the antiquated patriarchal idea of chivalry.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Fernald assured them, then frowned. “At least, not on purpose. So if I do, you’ll tell me, right?” Fernald took off his oversized lab coat and offered it to Rory, who shivered as they slipped it on. They had been really cold, Fernald realized. 

“As long as you’ll tell me if I do something that bothers you?”

“Deal.”

Having been walking more rapidly on the return trip compared to their meandering route away from the motel, the two henchpeople now reached their room. 

“I admire your willingness to critically examine your own behavior,” said Rory. 

“I admire the way you follow your convictions,” said Fernald, as he stepped through the doorway, “even at the expense of your personal comfort.”

Rory closed the door behind them, tried the lock, and found that it still worked.

They took off Fernald’s lab coat and hung it over the back of a chair. 

“Hang on,” said Rory. “How come the lights are working right now?”

“The twins found the power generator when we were looking around earlier,” explained Fernald. Now that he thought about it, Rory hadn’t been with them then, either. He frowned. He didn’t like to think of Rory feeling upset and isolating themselves from the rest of the troupe.

Rory approached Fernald, and this time, Fernald didn’t have any doubt. The kiss became needy, prolonged; neither wanted to end it first. 

Rory’s hands were on Fernald, one at his back, the other gently against his face, as if Rory were desperate to touch him. Fernald wanted it just as desperately—it had been some time since he’d been with anyone in this way. 

“I want to touch you,” he said. 

“But you…are?” said Rory quizzically.

“No, I mean for real.” Fernald raised one hook. “Will it bother you if I take these off?”

“No,” said Rory. “Why would it?”

Fernald shrugged. “Sometimes people react that way. If you’d be uncomfortable, you can say so.”

“No,” said Rory, catching him under the chin and gently kissing him once more. “Please, go ahead.”

Fernald sat down on the edge of his mattress and removed his prosthetics, placing them on the floor next to the bed. As he did so, he glanced up and saw Rory at the cracked mirror at the dresser, carefully setting aside the flower Fernald had given them before taking off their wig and glasses. Rory combed through their hair with their fingers, fluffing it back into shape. 

“I always forget you don’t wear glasses for real,” Fernald commented. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re cute with glasses."

“Thank you,” said Rory, showing just the faintest hint of beginning to blush again. “I think you’re cute, too.”

“Come here?” suggested Fernald. 

Rory went to Fernald, and the two of them hugged again. 

“May I?” asked Fernald, raising one arm toward Rory. 

Rory nodded. Fernald gently stroked Rory’s face with his wrist, and brushed their hair back from their forehead. 

“So nice,” he murmured. 

“Kiss me.”

They kissed each other, and then Rory softly kissed Fernald on the cheek, along the jaw, on the throat—

Fernald gasped. 

“Is this okay?” whispered Rory.

“Oh my God. I—yes. You are—exquisite.”

“Tell me if I go too far,” Rory implored.

“I will. But you haven’t,” said Fernald. “You’ll tell me, too?”

“Of course. Although—um—at the moment, I feel pretty comfortable going further. Although I shouldn’t assume without asking that you’d want to.”

“May I kiss you like that?”

“Please.”

Fernald kissed them on the mouth, on the neck. Rory tipped their head back with a sigh, exposing more of their throat. Fernald kissed lower, and Rory groaned softly. 

“Yes,” they breathed, wrapping their arms around Fernald and sinking back onto the bed. 

Now he’d reached the collar of their dress. Rory reached up with a trembling hand and began to undo the buttons. 

“As amazing as you look in this dress,” said Fernald, kissing them on the now-exposed skin of their shoulder, “I bet you’d look equally good out of it.”

“Um—I guess,” said Rory tentatively. 

Fernald stopped and sat back up.

“That doesn’t sound like enthusiastic consent,” he said in concern. Maybe making naughty remarks hadn’t been the way to go— _too much, too fast,_ he thought, mentally kicking himself. “Should I not have said that? I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

“No, it’s not—you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just nervous that you’ll be disappointed with me.”

“Trust me,” said Fernald, “That’s not possible.”

A sudden thought crossed his mind. 

“Have you done this before?” At Rory’s uncertain look, Fernald clarified, “Had sex, I mean?”

“Oh. Yes. Have you?”

“I have,” said Fernald. “But…not very often, or very recently. So I’m worried about disappointing you, too.”

“You won’t,” Rory reassured him. 

“I don’t know if that’s true,” said Fernald, “but thank you for saying so.” He leaned forward and kissed Rory lightly on the forehead.


	4. Chapter 4

“Still feeling nervous?” asked Fernald. He didn’t want to bring up the subject again and make Rory uncomfortable, but at the same time, he thought it was important to check in after they’d expressed discomfort. 

“Not as much,” said Rory, with a small smile that faded almost as soon as it had appeared. 

“What is it?” asked Fernald. 

“Um—I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this, but just so you know—I’m not exactly a girl or a boy.”

“I know that,” said Fernald, puzzled. They’d known each other for some time—of course he was aware that Rory didn’t identify as either male or female.

“No, but like, also physically.”

“Oh,” said Fernald, and then, in a tone of comprehension that was not entirely devoid of intrigue, “ _Oh_.”

“I should have said earlier,” said Rory in a rush. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”

“Shh.” Fernald brought an arm around their shoulders, pulling them in close. “Don’t apologize. It doesn’t change anything.” 

Rory rested their head against Fernald’s shoulder, and he kissed them on the cheek. 

That kiss turned into a lot more kissing that was far less innocent. When the two of them paused for breath, they were rather more disheveled than they had been to start with. 

Then they both spoke at the same time.

“I’m fine with—”

“Do you think—”

“You first,” said Fernald.

Rory shook their head. “No, you.”

“Well,” said Fernald, “I was going to say, I’m completely fine with just doing this if that’s what you want. I don’t want you to feel as if I expect anything from you. I wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“That’s very conscientious of you,” said Rory. “Thank you.”

“What were you going to say?” asked Fernald. 

“I was going to ask if you’d feel okay about taking off some of your clothing.”

“Some of _my_ \--?” Fernald’s eyebrows went up. Rory wanted to see him?

“Only if you want,” added Rory hastily. “If that was out of line, or if you don’t want to…”

“Not at all,” said Fernald, feigning more ease than he felt, and stripped off his shirt. 

Rory made a small sound of surprise. Fernald gave them a questioning look. He wondered whether they were shocked at seeing the scarred stumps of his wrists exposed, or at the several large scars across his chest and abdomen. 

But when Rory finally spoke, they said, “I never realized you were so muscular.”

“I…what?” Fernald tried to wrap his mind around this—Rory was seeing him shirtless, and their first comment was a compliment? Well, maybe it wasn’t actually a compliment. He decided to find out. “Is that good or bad?” 

“Morally, neither. Aesthetically, that’s quite subjective and comes down to personal preference. I think you’re very attractive, though.” 

They kissed again, and Rory ran a hand down Fernald’s bare chest, around to his back, their palm warm against his skin.

Rory unbuttoned their dress further, but was interrupted by Fernald kissing them. He rested his forearm against their knee, slowly moving up the outside of their thigh, sliding up under the hem of their dress, as Rory kissed and caressed Fernald all over—his neck, his chest, his back—

“I like this dress,” murmured Fernald against Rory’s neck, before kissing them on the earlobe. 

“I thought you wanted me to take it off,” Rory teased him. 

“I might be experiencing conflicting desires,” admitted Fernald with a smirk, then lowered his head to kiss along their collarbone. 

Rory gasped. “Touch me.” 

Gently, slowly, making it clear that there was no real force behind it, Fernald placed his wrist against Rory’s shoulder and pushed them back down onto the bed, positioning himself over them. Their dress was unbuttoned nearly to the waist now, and Fernald moved aside the cloth to reveal their white satin bra. He stroked their small, soft breasts, feeling their nipples harden beneath the silky cloth. 

“Show me how you like to be touched,” he said. 

Rory nodded. They cupped their breasts in their palms, pressing down to massage and squeeze them. Fernald watched in rapt fascination as Rory closed their eyes, breathing heavily, squirming beneath him on the bed. The fingers of their right hand dipped into one satin cup of their bra to pinch their nipple. 

“I would love to keep watching,” said Fernald, “but may I join in?”

Rory nodded wordlessly, eagerly, and Fernald needed no more invitation. He leaned down, kissing down Rory’s chest, taking hold of their bra in his teeth and pulling down each cup in turn to expose Rory’s breasts. Fernald lost himself in kissing and sucking, letting his tongue and teeth play over their nipples until Rory had dissolved into breathy whimpering. Fernald positioned one knee between Rory’s legs, and they responded to the invitation, lifting their hips to rub themselves against his thigh. 

“Please,” they whispered, looking up at him with such naked desire that Fernald felt dizzy for an instant. 

“Get undressed,” he said.

Rory complied and hastily cast off their dress, along with their shoes and stockings, leaving them in nothing but their matching white bra and panties. Fernald kissed down their stomach, stopping just before he reached the waistband of their panties, then sat up and moved away. Rory gave a sound of discontent, pressing their thighs together, squirming. 

“Touch yourself for me,” he told them quietly. 

“I want you.”

“Soon,” agreed Fernald. “Show me what you like.”

Rory slid one hand lower, between their legs, gliding over the front of their panties, squeezing and stroking. 

Fernald couldn’t take his eyes from them, even as he kissed them from knee to thigh, slowly, until Rory was making soft yet insistent wordless pleas. Fernald stopped just as he reached the edge of their panties, then started over again at the opposite knee. 

“Don’t stop,” begged Rory.

Fernald nuzzled higher up their inner thigh, then buried his face against the slightly damp satin. He hesitated just a second before venturing a kiss against the fabric, then another. 

Judging by Rory’s reaction, they seemed to find the sensation enjoyable as well. 

“Still good?” asked Fernald, with a quick look upward.

“Good,” repeated Rory, somewhat in a daze. 

“Is this right?” queried Fernald. “Should I be doing anything different?”

“No, no, I actually— _really_ like that. Keep going. I mean only if you— _oh_.” They broke off their attempt at finishing the sentence as Fernald followed their instructions. 

After a moment, Fernald paused again. “Do you want to take these off?” 

“Oh my God, yes.”

Rory hastily removed their panties, and Fernald resumed, aroused far more than he’d expected by the simple act of letting his lips touch their skin directly. It didn’t take him long to find what Rory would react to the most, and soon they were writhing against him, trembling beneath his mouth, rocking their hips up to meet him. 

“Don’t stop,” Rory pleaded. Fernald didn’t, and in a moment, Rory was grabbing him by the shoulder as they shuddered in climax. 

Fernald sat up and kissed them on the inside of the knee. 

“So that was all right?” he asked, feeling a bit pleased with himself. 

“That was amazing.” Still breathing hard, Rory turned over onto their side, removed their disarranged bra, and asked Fernald, “What can I do for you?”

Again, that instant of dizziness. “Anything you want,” he managed. 

“Can I take off your pants?”

Fernald nodded, still a bit dazed. 

Before doing so, Rory sat up and kissed Fernald again, setting his heart rate racing. Then, they pushed Fernald down on the bed as they removed his pants. Rory took hold of him through his boxers, grasping firmly. He gasped at the sensation, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as Rory stroked him slowly. 

“Can I take off your shorts, too?” they asked.

“I would like that.”

Rory pulled down Fernald’s boxers, sliding them all the way off and massaging firmly up his inner thighs before taking his erect penis in their hand again. No one had touched him like this for a long time. He would masturbate occasionally, when he’d felt particularly strong sexual urges and was without a partner—which had been the case for quite a while—but it was as if he’d almost forgotten how it felt to be touched intimately by another person.

Fernald moaned, and Rory looked up to meet his eyes.

“Would you like me to—”

“Kiss me,” Fernald interrupted, even though he knew that wasn’t what Rory had been about to offer. 

Rory did kiss him, slowing the movement of their hand so that Fernald could thrust up into it, stifling his cries against Rory’s mouth, and then, far too soon, he finished, going still and trying to catch his breath. 

“Sorry,” he managed after a moment. “I didn’t mean for it to be like that. It’s been kind of a long time since…Well, sorry, anyway,” he concluded.

“Don’t be,” said Rory. “I had a good time. I get the impression that you did, too,” they added with a questioning glance.

“Absolutely.”

“Then that’s all that matters. Besides, the idea equating sexual stamina with masculinity and personal worth is totally false, not to mention phallocentric.”

Fernald considered. “You know, that makes a lot of sense. I like it when you explain things.” He kissed Rory on the cheek again and pulled them into another hug. 

“You know it actually is really late now?” said Rory. 

“Yeah,” said Fernald. “We should sleep.”

“…want to move the beds together?”

“Definitely.”

 

Early the next morning, as the troupe piled back into Olaf’s long black sedan, Fernald noticed a badly wilted yellow flower pinned to the inner lapel of Rory’s jacket.


End file.
